


Sweater Weather

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Pre-Slash, Ugly Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt discovers that he loves Hermann's awful clothing. This is a terrible realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irinokat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irinokat/gifts).



> Ah man, I wanted this one to be longer but I was really satisfied with where it ended? WHOOPS sorry friend, hope you like it anyway!

Here’s the thing- Newt is apparently at that level of infatuation where he thinks Hermann is attractive in _everything_.

Well. Not _thinks_. Newt has decided that, despite all logic to the contrary, Hermann’s attractiveness is a law of nature, solid _fact_ , all immovable object to Newt’s unstoppable force. Hermann is attractive. It shouldn’t make sense. It does. End of story.

Pffft. He _wishes_. God, how Newt wishes Hermann being attractive could just be a fact of life and he could move on. But no- it’s something that eats at his brain, like a, like a _rot_ , except handsome? He’s not great at metaphor, whatever, whatever. The point is: Hermann is handsome, and Newt _can’t stop noticing it_.

So his attraction has moved from longing to see what’s under those frumpy grandpa clothes, to stick his hands up under all ten _thousand_ of Hermann’s layers and feel his skin, to a strange, perverse _lust_ for those ugly-ass sweater vests and old man pants. Not some kind of fetish for ugly clothing (though he wouldn’t be surprised if _that_ started to develop, too), but... Basically, he fantasizes about Hermann fully-clothed just as often as he fantasizes about him naked. It’s _awful_ , and Newt’s pretty sure he’s gonna develop some kind of complex from this shit.

In mid December one year, when Newt knows he’s got it _bad_ , Hermann comes to work wearing _the_ ugliest sweater Newt’s ever seen. It’s a gaudy orange, _hideously_ uncharacteristic for Hermann, with little yellow Xs in a pattern across it. The worst part: it’s _fuzzy_. It is honestly, genuinely fuzzy, like they just pulled the wool right off the sheep, dyed it, and claimed it was a sweater. It’s awful, and Hermann still looks _devastatingly_ handsome.

“What,” Newt says when he sees it. It’s not even _really_ meant as a question for Hermann, but he _can’t_ help but vocalize his utter confusion. “What- what is that.”

Hermann sighs, as though he was expecting this. Which, hey, rude. “A Hanukkah gift from my sister,” he says. “She thinks she can knit. I’m not quite sure how she’s so awful at it- the woman is a _brain surgeon,_ yet she can’t knit a sweater?”

“Oh,” Newt says. This is the breaking point. He sees Hermann in this sweater and he stops this stupid, stupid crush, or he keeps on being attracted despite it.

Oh _god,_ he’s in love with Hermann Gottlieb. He’s in capital L _love_ with this man who wears sweaters that are _way_ too big, pants that are too loose in the waist but also too short, the man with an awful haircut Newt has a sneaking suspicion he does himself. He loves him and his ugly clothes and his angry scowl. Newton Geiszler _love_ loves Hermann Gottlieb.

It’s a really upsetting realization. Newt slumps into his chair and drops his head to his desk. “Why,” he says. “Why, why, why.”

“Newton? Please tell me you aren’t dying, I’d be rather put-off if you were.”

The statement makes his heart flutter. It _literally_ does. Newt feels like he is going to vomit with adoration. “Nope,” he says, a little louder. “I’m good. I’m just. I’m just battling my inner self right now, no big deal.”

A pause. “Right,” Hermann says doubtfully. A moment later, Newt hears the familiar squeak of chalk on blackboard, and he sighs.

Damn it. Rock stars aren’t supposed to get _lovesick_.


End file.
